“How extremely stupid!” cried Mrs. Epanchin, giving back the letter abruptly. “It was not worth the trouble of reading. Why are you smiling?”
“Confess that you are pleased to have read it.”
“What! Pleased with all that nonsense! Why, cannot you see that they are all infatuated with pride and vanity?”
“He has acknowledged himself to be in the wrong. Don’t you see that the greater his vanity, the more difficult this admission must have been on his part? Oh, what a little child you are, Lizabetha Prokofievna!”
“Are you tempting me to box your ears for you, or what?”
“Not at all. I am only proving that you are glad about the letter. Why conceal your real feelings? You always like to do it.”
“Never come near my house again!” cried Mrs. Epanchin, pale with rage. “Don’t let me see as much as a shadow of you about the place! Do you hear?”
“Oh yes, and in three days you’ll come and invite me yourself. Aren’t you ashamed now? These are your best feelings; you are only tormenting yourself.”
“I’ll die before I invite you! I shall forget your very name! I’ve forgotten it already!”
She marched towards the door.